#nikto mw2

[remirtillo]

my wife

[demothers-empty-blog]

Моя жена

CW: arranged russian marriage with Nikto.

Nikto was never a people person.

Nikto wasn’t even a person. At least, that’s what he believed, or rather, was led to believe. He told himself long ago, his heart had no place for comforts and warmth and you were the epitome of those things.

The family was never hateful of you. In their eyes, you were the best thing that’s ever happened to their son; he wanted no part of it.

He doesn’t know why he even married you in the first place. He knows the reason, it just wasn’t enough to justify the means in his head.

This whole marriage thing… he needed to get away from it. He’s made a habit of avoiding you as best he could but that never stopped him from crawling into bed, or under it as it turns out.

Nikto has slept in worse spots than the floor, it became like some odd comfort to him. He can do it anywhere, yet he chose to be close to you.

Night went away again and morning arose; as the sun began to make its way through the skies, the bed was found empty. Still, you pat his side to see if he was there, you can feel your heart sink when your hand lands on air.

Nikto wakes up very early, but does he ever sleep? He doesn’t allow himself to process, his body already moving without any conscious decision. He quietly dressed himself, grabbed his gear with a deft hand and left the house, not a thought crossed his mind about leaving you a note or a goodbye.

He had a job to do and nothing would get in the way, not even his fleeting thoughts about you.

He spent the day going about his business, focused on completing the task at hand. But no matter how much he tried to push it down, his mind always veered back to you. He cursed God for feeling the way he did.

He misses you, even if he would never utter those words out in the open. You’re the only reason he even bothers coming back home at night.

“Nikto?”

You say one day while patiently peeling a potato for dinner that night, not looking up.

He paused what he was doing, hand tightening around the holster of his gun as he undressed, bones aching from exhaustion. He turned to see you standing in the kitchen, now looking at him with a mixture of worry and curiosity.

“Yes?” Nikto can’t take that look in your eye, he shifts his gaze to the metal bowl behind you, filled with cubed potatoes submerged in water.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

He stilled, his eyes rounding at your words. He hadn’t expected you to say those words to him, especially not in Russian.

For a moment, his expression hardened and he felt exposed. Only briefly did you make him feel like a kid again, soft and vulnerable. He was weary about allowing himself such a feeling.

Blind trust. Perhaps even healing his inner child.

Warm and safe in your presence, why did he ever push you away again?

Just for tonight, he’ll shed his hard shell, let the doubts in his head fizzle away.

Just this once, he’ll say it back.

“My tozhe lyubem tebya.”

We love you too.

[xbruised-peachx]

who?

[demothers-empty-blog]

Nikto…? Nikto.

I arrive home i get in my corner

[callmecoke]

“You’re mine. You belong to me.” overrated, boring, tiresome, vaguely misogynistic undertones. -5/10

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” new, exciting, thrilling, beautiful, man who respects women, soft femdom coded, 10/10

[lizzy019]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── 18+! ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Nikto who has a lopsided cock because the bindings Zakhaev put him in made it mould uncomfortably. It's never fully erect anymore, and it doesn't exactly feel the same as it used to. He feels it through the moment, whether it be a passionate or aggressive night with you.

Nikto who has a missing testicle and suffers with hypospermia (the lack of sperm cells but not infertile). He didn't know if you would still want to suck him off, and he was quite nervous to show you. But everything seemed to change when you got on your knees to kiss his half erection and cup his one testicle.

Nikto who can't suck love marks into your skin because of his broken, misshapen and malnourished lips. While he would love to see your neck and shoulders covered in hickeys and nibbles, is biting such a bad option?

Nikto who absolutely adored your body, and he honestly would kill to see you in lingerie. The lacey fabric would make you look angelic, more so that you already look! Maybe a bright white or a suiting shade of deep green would look nice on you, but he doesn't know if you want to wear it and he won't force you,

Nikto who DEFINITELY has a breeding kink. It's the Russian part of him, he needs to have offspring to keep his name going. And when you're finally pregnant, growing a child just for him within your womb, he would still eat you tf out, even when you're just a bit too close to the finish line.

Nikto who loves degrading you when he's on top, but melts and fucking nuts when you praise him in any sort of way. He's damn near never gotten any validation during sex, but with you? No, he knows his cock is making you feel good.

Nikto who only lasts long when he's on top, forcing his misaligned cock into you with brutally paced thrusts. He'll be moving you into different positions every few minutes, needing to feel you in every possible way. Just... not when he's bottoming. He'll cum so quick that it almost always leads to you receiving some head.

Nikto who got fucking hard in his pants the first time he saw you naked. Like- damn. Why the hell did you have to be so damn gorgeous? How could he ever manage to catch someone as stunning as you? He worships you, mainly whenever it's an intimate setting.

Nikto who definitely gropes you a bit too hard. You have to forgive him, малышка, you're just so pretty! Mainly your tits, whether you have or not. Pretty nipples hardening under the callouses of his hand, he just can't get enough!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── 18+! ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

@fishsinsareacknowledged @frogcereal29 @simp4konig @puracatt :)

[nrdmssgs]

Masterlist "We can't keep it." "Sputnik. Her name is Sputnik." "We can't keep Sputnik, Nikto! She's a wild animal" "Look her in the eyes." "No" "Look her in the eyes and tell her, she will have to leave this place." "...Fuck you, Andre." "She likes belly scratches. Like this."

[demothers-empty-blog]

THIS IS AN ACHIEVEMENT YALL🗣️🗣️ ‼️

You 🫵 gimme sum Nikto 🤲 and i’ll love you forevah 🫶

Since Andre’s been tortured and lead to believe that he’s nothing, a literal nobody, what if reader’s nickname for him or term of endearment is to call him their everything?

“Stay safe, my everything.”

“Come back soon, my everything”

“Ya lyublyu tebya moye vse” (I love you my everything)

“Love I am nothing, ничто.”

You couldn’t keep having this same argument with him, it tore at you. Like sore on your feet with miles to walk this ache in you grew to make him understand that he couldn’t be nothing.

Andre, as he decided to call himself, had no memories further back than pain. It had taken a year and a half before he could sleep in a bed with you. The first night you had been woken by his shivering and muttering, face twisted in agony. Every movement from his body jerked as if fighting off some invisible attacker.

When you made the mistake of touching his shoulder you blinked and found yourself pinned under him. Moonlight winked off his front teeth as he snarled down at you. The always-exposed teeth of his missing lip absorbed the moonlight as if the whiteness of the light could return the color to the enamel.

Panic fluttered in your breast. The man you love is still trapped in nightmares. Cooing up at him you lay soft, gentle words into his ears. He comes back to himself in pieces. The forearm at your throat lessens in pressure, the rigid lines of his torso and legs relax, finally, his eyes, shadowed blue, blink down at you.

Disgust and panic war the scars on his face to be the dominant expression. He flees the bed then. You hear him pause only long enough to grab his boots before the front door is crashing closed behind him.

Knowing better than to chase him, for he took to flight like a hare at the bugle of an elk, you allow yourself five minutes to weep. When you have expunged enough sorrow to stand, you shuffle to the kitchen. Readying two cups with tea leaves you add water to yours and settle in to wait. Every thirty minutes or so you lift yourself off the couch to flick the kettle back on until steam and bubbles mark the water as boiling. That done you drift back to the cushions leaving only the above stove light on to illuminate your flat.

You are practicing your Russian when he creeps back through the front door. Well, you are actually yelling at the green lying bird because Andre taught you this word already and that is not how he said it or you practiced it.

“The bird is wrong.”

“I know the bird is wrong but I have to say it the ‘right’ way to get past this part.” You don’t look up at him as you pronounce the word incorrectly into your phone’s speaker.

Once the app accepts your answer you glance up at him. Cheeks flushed with exertion and cold his eyes shine bluer for the tears pricking his lashes.

Flapping a hand at him you stand, “Sit, sit. I will grab your tea.”

He opens his mouth to argue but the glare you pin him with quells any words on his tongue. The couch creaks behind you as you flick the kettle on once more. The recently heated water bubbles speedily and you return to Andre in no more than a minute, mug in one hand and a small plate for his tea bag in the other. Setting both in front of him on the coffee table you take the opposite side of the couch. One leg tucked under the other you face his profile.

“Are you ready to talk about it or would you like to drink your tea and go back to bed?” You keep your tone casual as if the two options you presented are the only logical ones.

“I cannot stay. I am a danger to you.” The skin of his knuckles creak lightly when he curls them into fists on his thigh. “Love I am nothing, ничто.”

“Your nightmare might be a danger but you? My heart? You are not a danger to me.”

You had called him your heart since the first time you admitted to him that you loved him and wept for him when he was gone.

Mullishly, Andre stares at his lap instead of you. Shifting to the middle cushion you lift his tea bag from the hot water, familiar scents enter the conversation.

“Why do you stab the brain stem, my heart?”

Andre looks at you, confused as to why you are asking in the middle of this conversation.

“To stop all life,” he replies succinctly.

“Could you say,” you scoot a bit closer, fingers resting on his thigh close to his fisted fingers. “That it is to stop the heart?”

His eyebrows cannot come any closer to touching, this question makes them try anyway. He nods once.

“So the heart is more important than the brain?” You look up at him with such innocent eyes.

Weighing his head side to side he considered the question. After an infinitely long time, he nods again.

The hand on his thigh cups his fist now, the other landing on his neck, and the gentle pressure of your thumb keeping his eyes on you. “The heart is everything. Without it there is no life, there is nothing. You, Andre, are my heart, my everything.”

His eyes and pupils both blow wide as your words sink into his comprehension. Gaze flicking over your face tears begin to stream down his cheeks. With your thumb, you direct them away from his teeth. He had told you once that the taste of his tears triggers memories.

“You cannot be nothing if you are everything to me,” you whisper the words as you look back and forth from eye to eye, gauging how your message is received.

A reverence settles over him. He stares at you as if your love has replaced pain as the god of his soul. You wonder if this is how Aphrodite felt when she had godhood bestowed upon her: overwhelmed, humbled, scared shitless, empowered.

Broad hands soft on your waist pulled you close before forcing you flat on the couch. He followed you, shifting until he lay on one side between you and the back head resting on your chest.

In the light from the kitchen casting shadows across your bodies, he tells you of his lived nightmares. Neither of you comments on the growing damp circle of your nightgown or the wet spots that will mark the couch from your eyes. That night he lets you in, becoming more than nothing.

The tea is chilly when you both wake in the morning. Andre drinks it all, eyes on you as he coughs through the dregs.

“Ya lyublyu tebya moye vse,” the caress of his words tell you the meaning of the unfamiliar sounds.

A/N: Well hot damn I feel like I did a good job with this one... Yep this is getting added to my masterlist.

Masterlist

[olisticks]

Nikto who, while sitting on the porch of your shared apartment, smoking a cigarette, hears a tiny meow. Looks down to find a litter of tiny black kittens hidden in the bushes, and one who managed to stumble through the bars of the patio and onto the concrete.

The little thing is so scraggly, and he attempts to guide it back to its mama but it digs its claws into his glove, meowing louder.

Nikto who comes inside cradling three different pitch black kitties in his arms with the mama trailing after and practically trying to bury herself into the leg of Nikto's pants, purring like an engine.

At your look of curiosity and hesitance, he gently plops the babies onto the blanket in your lap, claiming that "they remind him of you. Loud and clingy." And you just can't find it in yourself to be mad at him.

[milomossy]

pov you are a dumpling rolled under the table

[the-smut-mongerer]

Since Designationless! Reader is incapable of having a scent, they aren't capable of even having body odor. And then having no body odor also entails in not being able to sweat which would mean they have something called Anhidrosis, the inability to sweat. This can cause health issues involving overheating and dehydration.

I can just imagine their packmates absolutely doting on them and making sure they drink enough water and are cool enough, especially throughout missions.

[demothers-empty-blog]

You my heart have gotten me out of a writing block mwah you’re precious

Nikto's eyes see everything. You know that. Eyes that search through and through, observant in every movement never going unnoticed by him. Shivers and a pause in a moment are never forgotten.

How could he when his eyes see through you. Searching your very soul with every glance he takes. It makes you shy. It makes him nervous.

He's scared when you realize, as if you haven't and he already knows, you'll leave. He's scared that maybe you'll wake up one day, change your mind, and leave him. Deciding that its too much, his gaze dissecting you like a patient under an operating table.

And yet he doesn't know how comforting it is. How he can see your soul word for word, every inch of it. All the way through your ribcage that he wants to hold to the spine he loves to cradle. He sees everything it amounts to, and decides he wants it. Craves it carnally that it makes him mad for you.

In love and in distress. He's used to the latter. He'll find comfort in the moments with you.

[demothers-empty-blog]

detach

nervous nikto afraid of being embosomed by love, only has he grown familiar to the harsh dig in his wrists, irritating the marred flesh that hasn’t felt the sun in months, hard and cold concrete greets him rather than a warm bed.

raspy, metallic, ear-ringing, vexing, coarse, stiff, numbed; a soft touch would send him crumbling.

he is nobody, so by default there should be nobody to care, to come running, say this isn’t right; save him from this treatment. he shouldn’t have such a dulcet voice pull him back from dissociating, let him lose another part of himself to those ceaseless hungry thoughts.

don’t clasp your hands over his scarred cheeks, he wouldn’t survive it, don’t catch the burning tears that fall, he’ll eat you alive.

he’ll let his eyes flutter shut from the warmth of your blood, bathe in the very liquid that sustains you, take a bite out of the muscle that pumps your veins, sitting cradled in the palms of the hands that sowed so much destruction.

a snap of your fingers, a call of his name, icy blues zero in on what’s in front of them. you pull him out of whatever trance he put himself in.

Nikto? Where’d you go big man?

a blink, a sharp breath in, he feels the air fill his lungs, it’s a beautiful cloudy day. slowly he tilts his neck towards your retreating hand, you being on his left side, sitting beside him on the pillowy grass below.

that’s right, you two went out for a walk. the gentle chirp of birds drown the ring in his ears, the breeze brushes airy kisses along his skin.

what was he thinking again? no matter, it’s the present now.

My nakhodimsya zdes'

We are here.

[orbuz228]

[willthegrouch]

First drawing back and its nikto

[emoelvin]

dangerous situation